


The Trials and Tribulations of Being a Holmes

by TheTalentedMrHolmes



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Holmes Brothers, Kidlock, M/M, Not Beta Read, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalentedMrHolmes/pseuds/TheTalentedMrHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the Holmes brother's lives, from childhood to adulthood, they've faced many trials and tribulations. Sherlock and Q (Benjamin) fight back against Mycroft's meddling.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trials and Tribulations of Being a Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on Tumblr by aim-of-johns-affections:   
> Sherlock and Q (Benjamin) helping each other against Mycroft´s plotting (anything, family thing, work...whatever ;o)

“Sherlock Holmes!” Mycroft said crossly from the doorway of his younger brother’s room, eyes fixed to the old wardrobe and the child sat atop it. He’d just been told by Mummy to get the younger Holmes’ ready for luncheon with the family, but it seemed he was already too late.

“I know you did this,” Mycroft continued, moving into the room. “Come out at once and get your brother down from the wardrobe and get dressed!”

There was no reply.

Benjamin kept his finger pressed firmly to his lips as he watched his brother huff and puff. He’d promised to keep Sherlock’s state of hiding a secret and had sworn to silence. He was always good with his brother’s secrets. Like the experiment with the batteries. That was one of his favourite secrets.

Mycroft simply frowned - the expression almost comical on the still slightly chubby face - and reached for the four year old on the wardrobe.

“Where’s Sherlock?” He asked, to which Benjamin shook his head, expression serious. “Are you going to come down?” 

Benjamin considered this thoughtfully before nodding; concluding that yes, he would have to come down someday. No time like the present, the boy reached out an arm for his brother, making sure to keep his finger pressed to his lips as he had promised. Mycroft reached up and pulled the boy to his chest, looking down at him thoughtfully for a moment before asking; 

“He’s under the bed, isn’t he?”

In a burst of action, Sherlock rolled out from under the bed, clad in only his pants and socks, while Benjamin wiggled free from Mycroft’s grasp.

“Come on, Benny!” Sherlock cried, waving out his hand for his younger brother to hold, dragging him out of the room and across the landing while they giggled and ran from Mycroft.

Sherlock knew of course, that Mycroft would have to make sure they were dressed in stupid annoying clothes. He wouldn’t upset Mummy or Father by messing up the luncheon - again -, but he felt no guilt over messing with _Mycroft_. The seven year old pulled Benjamin into Father’s study, quickly moving to the cupboard. There was a small space at the back of the cupboard that he ushered Benjamin into before he joined him and closed the door with a click. Sherlock pressed his finger to his lips, making sure Benjamin saw and copied him in the dim light. Both the boy’s were breathing quickly from the chase and shallowly because of the anticipation of getting caught.

As soon as they could hear Mycroft’s footfalls coming closer, Benjamin began to laugh at the ridiculous hilarity of the situation. Sherlock shushed him loudly. Rolling his eyes at his own lack of thought, he giggled a few moments later and thus guaranteed their catastrophic capture.

*

“Boys? Ah, boys, there you are.” Mrs Holmes said, smiling pleasantly at her smartly dressed sons, beckoning them forward with a light wave of her hand. Mycroft stepped forward last, making sure to keep and eye on the other two who smiled cheekily at each other, faces still flushed from running.

*****

“He’s always late,” Benjamin commented, mildly amused as he brought the cup of Earl Grey to his lips. He hadn’t expected anything different; Sherlock was notorious for showing up when it pleased him. Mycroft however, always made it seem like it was his life’s ambition to be the most prompt bastard on the planet.

They’d all made it to the funeral on time, a feat which would have likely amused their father to no end. Mummy suggested the brothers should _‘catch up’_ after being parted for _‘so long’_. In reality, they hadn’t all been together for longer than half an hour since Mycroft had declared he had found other accommodations and a healthy job after finishing university. Since then Mycroft had infrequently visited and Sherlock gallivanted off to start his own courses at university. 

Silently, the brothers had decided a café public enough to appease Mummy - but private enough to not draw attention to any of Sherlock’s antics - was in order. At least, Benjamin and Mycroft were in consensus about the latter.

“Sherlock spends his life intentionally attempting to be as contrary as humanly possible; timekeeping would hardly be one of his specialities,” Mycroft sighed, his expression vaguely contemptuous of his entire surroundings.

“It’s a wonder he hasn’t been thrown out of university yet,” Benjamin replied, ignoring his brother’s disparaging tone. He looked out of the window to the street, hoping to see Sherlock amongst the crowds, to no avail. He turned back to Mycroft, an eyebrow raised. “He hasn’t, has he?”

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow, elegant fingers playing with the lacquered handle of his umbrella. “Believe me, if Sherlock had left university, I would not be quite so placid in this moment,” he explained calmly. Benjamin’s eyes carefully followed each tap of Mycroft’s fingertips to his umbrella.

“Placid is one word for it,” he said, taking another sip of the tea. “Hmm. Here comes trouble.”

Mycroft glanced towards the doorway, his expression remaining terrifyingly constant as Sherlock pushed the door open with his shoulder, who looked far more disheveled than the last time he’d seen him properly - which was still during his teens. Sherlock was blissfully oblivious to the reactions of his elder sibling, far too busy glancing over Benjamin with interest. 

“School work is fine, lost four pounds, grown one inch, now diagnosably underweight, hmm, you’re all dressed up for whatever indiscernible reason.”

Benjamin cast a wary glance towards the table; torn between rolling his eyes at Sherlock’s deductions and watching for Mycroft’s reaction. 

“Always a pleasure for you to grace us with your presence, brother.” Mycroft said, smiling thinly at Sherlock, causing Benjamin to nudge the third chair at the table with his foot in invitation for his brother to sit. A silence ensued which would have been awkward for any trio with less table manners. Even if it was a slightly sticky table from a previously spilled fizzy drink.

“How is university?” Benjamin asked once Sherlock had received his coffee.

“Teeming with imbeciles,” Sherlock drawled, stirring his drink dramatically as only Sherlock Holmes could. “You would be better off with skipping the whole business entirely, Ben.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mycroft, resting his umbrella against the arm of his chair so he could clasp his hands together in his lap. “Benjamin would do well to further his education. He would not waste it in the fashion you’ve been so fond of. “

“Spying on me, Mycroft?” Sherlock tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Is that what a government job wins you? You could have just called, or is that too pedestrian for you now?”

“Would you have informed me of your recent exploits in the chemistry laboratories?” Mycroft returned, raising a brow. “And I highly doubt you would have relayed the information regarding your whereabouts on June the third?”

“The question is: do you want to end up like like him, Ben? With nothing better to do than watch over your brothers in a stuffed chair, basking in all the boring _opulence_ until you’re nothing more than a fat blob?” Sherlock asked Benjamin, who flashed him a smirk in return. “You should do your A-levels, then hack your way up the ranks.” Sherlock added, his eyes glinting wish mischief. “That would be much more exciting.”

“Now, Sherlock-”

“Actually,” Benjamin interrupted, placing his cup down on the table as he turned to face Sherlock, ignoring their elder brother completely. “Guess whose computer I breached last night.”

“You didn’t.”

“It turns out I’m not the only one who knows what happened on the third.” Benjamin said with a small knowing grin. “Will you be working with the Yard again in the future?”

“They’re just as much a group of simpletons as my lecturers and peers. Of course I’ll be working with them again. They’ll _need_ me.”

“You really think I could just hack in the right places and someone would want me?”

The rest of their small family gathering continued in the same vein. Mycroft was steadfastly ignored, or each input of his was used as a springboard for another conversation that would irk the hell out of him. Mycroft may like to think himself man of the house, Sherlock thought, wishing him luck as he encouraged his little brother to hack wherever it was possible so he could practice going unnoticed. Benjamin was simply brilliant enough to be revolutionary. No thanks to Mycroft, of course.

*****

_“Up the stairs?”_

“Yes, quietly and quickly.” Q replied, speaking to the double-oh agent via headset while he typed rapidly at his computer. “There are four doors on the next floor up; if they come out you will be cornered and it will end badly. The room on the left also contains civilians, so that’s a no-go on clearing the floor entirely, which would be simpler... Use the smoke bombs through the letterboxes and the analgesic on the left-hand room.”

_“Quietly? You have to remember who you’re talking to.”_

“Yes, Bond. Quietly.”

_“Shut up, then.”_

“You don’t need to have the last word, you realise.” Q replied, his lips twitching despite the seriousness of the situation. “Oh, and enter through the right-hand door when you’re done.”

 _“You should have been a steward. You’re wasted as a Quartermaster.”_ Came Bond’s amused voice, quickly followed by his pants for breath. _“‘Exits are here, here and here.’”_

“And armed gunmen are ahead of you.”

_“Fantastic.”_

“You’re also missing that there is no chance in hell of me boarding a plane... Shooting is not ‘quiet’, Bond. I’m registering disturbances from the civilian room, you idiot.” Q said, releasing a stressed breath before taking a sip of his tea. Boiling hot. Thank heaven for subordinates.

_“They’ll be fine.”_

“Sir,” said a voice to Q’s left. He handed the voice his cup and waved at it to wait.

“As long as they do not get caught in the crossfire. That much paperwork would be very distressing.”

_“Of course not. I can’t have you moaning at me anymore than usual, can I?”_

“I moan at you precisely as much as you deserve.” said Q, reaching out for his cup again as he narrowed his eyes at the screen before him. “Also, put a bullet through the fire alarm if you would, and listen carefully. The building will be evacuated of civilians, we can focus on what is going on. Your mark should be upstairs, so make sure he doesn’t try to leave in the evac.”

_“Oh, now you want the shooting. I’m going up now. Have fun listening.”_

“Yes, _now_ I want shooting. You decided to ignore my previous instructions. I adapted.”

_“Never boring, you.”_

“Never predictable, you.” Q replied before catching himself, becoming aware of his surroundings again. “I’m leaving you now. Bring the gun back in one piece, if you could.”

_“No promises, Q.”_

Q allowed Bond to have the last word and clicked off the communication, keeping Bond’s tracker highlighted on screen in case there was any trouble. He turned, looking to the voice of the woman who had spoke earlier.

“There was a message left for you, sir.” She said while passing a sheet of paper to him, still warm from the printer. It read:

_Before you start mourning; I am fine._  
 _Do not try to contact me. Do not track me, not even privately._  
 _If you need information our dearest brother will be the best source._  
 _I’ll see you again soon._  
 _\- Sherlock Holmes_

“Thank you,” Q responded simply, waving the woman off back to work. He folded the note and placed it under a small box of screws, not yet ready to allow his personal life to interfere with work.

*

“For god’s sake, Mycroft!” Q hissed, slamming his hand down on the shiny veneer, rattling the glasses filled with a deep amber liquid. “I should have been notified of this sooner.”

“Sit down, brother. We may be the only two in this room, but sound does travel so well through these halls.” Mycroft replied, crossing his legs and raising a sardonic brow. Q sat again while he fumed, purposefully refusing to look at the glass of scotch that had been poured for him. “This has been planned since the beginning, Benjamin. If word got to you, you would have eliminated the short term priority, but the long term problem would have remained. James Moriarty is dead and Sherlock is ensuring the impossibility of his reign to continue.”

“I had a right to know. I had a right to - to not be kept in the dark for so long!” Q replied, his patience thinning with every second. As Quartermaster of MI6 it was humiliating to have been fooled by his elder brother. Mycroft had hidden a threat so great from him; it was enough to make his fists ache. As the brother of the world’s only consulting detective, he was hurt and embarrassed. It was quite possible that both Sherlock and Mycroft still saw him as their little brother to be protected and kept innocent and thriving. He’d thought after Sherlock’s relapse and his taking responsibility of the older Holmes he might have gained some form of respect from him. He was the head of his own branch, for god’s sake!

“I’m surprised you told me his suicide was fake,” he added, giving in and taking a sip of his alcohol. He didn’t know if it was any good, although in any other situation he might have nicked the bottle to give to Bond for returning his gun in good shape.

“I should hope you don’t think us so heartless. We debated the advantages and disadvantages of telling you in detail,” Mycroft replied, clasping his hands around the dark wood of his chair.

Q laughed. “Oh, of course. Thank you for considering me at all.”

“There is nothing to come from having a caring disposition, Benjamin. Nothing but the hurt you are suffering now.”

“And is that what you told yourself when you planned for his suicide? Is that what you thought when you watched the footage? It looked _real_ , Mycroft.” Q replied, standing again, his chair dragging loudly against the floor. “And you felt nothing. Will you even go to the funeral? Or would it be an unnecessary waste of your time?”

“I care for yourself and Sherlock equally.” Mycroft replied, his tone sounding almost false, as though the words were rehearsed. Perhaps that was what made them seem all the more genuine to Q. This was not his brother forcing emotion. This was his brother worried for Sherlock’s safety and Benjamin’s well-being and coping the only way he knew how. “I will go to the funeral. As you will too, if you so wished.”

Q nodded and stepped away from his chair before he was tempted to sit again. “He’s forbidden me to track him. I will assume he will contact me when he deems it necessary?” Q asked, to which Mycroft inclined his head in answer. “And I will also assume you are the only reliable link to his whereabouts. Of course. Right. Okay then. I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Everything has been planned meticulously by the both of us, brother. Do not allow this to haunt you.”

“I will not,” Q promised, exiting the door with the bottle of scotch surreptitiously hidden in his coat pocket.

*****

“I never thought I would see you take advantage of the holiday, Sherlock.” Q said, a smile forming on his face as he hacked into a trader’s files from his brother’s laptop. It was Christmas and apparently there was a case from a Detective Inspector involving a precious blue stone and a string of murders and suicides - Q frankly hadn’t been paying much attention - and his services were required to trace shipping details all across the country.

“What?” The detective replied somewhere behind him.

“Family. Presents. Or favours, in this case.”

“Oh. Well your company has always been favourable over Mycroft’s and I haven’t gotten you a gift, obviously. Take what you will from that.”

“It would have been shocking if you had...Oh, Sherlock.” Q said, his voice trailing off with a sigh as he cast a glance over his shoulder to the older man. “Did you have to say his name?”

Sherlock groaned in response and settled himself in his chair by the fireplace, curled into a sulky ball. “You’re no help. He would leave within ten minutes if John were here. You will keep him all afternoon.”

“Did you want my help?”

No response came as both Holmes’ immersed themselves in their thoughts. Q’s admittedly more practical. Neither wanted to notice the steady thump of distinctive footsteps and umbrella in tow clicking their way up the stairs.

“Afternoon,” Mycroft greeted, casting a glance around the living room of 221B; not surprised by the mess.

“Mind my spider’s web, you plumpy bastard,” Sherlock grumbled from his chair, referring to the pieces of ribbon criss-crossing the room from where he joined all the points of information for the case.

“Don’t mind him, Mycroft. I think he’s just muddled because he’s pining.” Q said, glancing over the eldest Holmes. Mycroft settled opposite Sherlock, acknowledging his brother’s words with a brief smile.

“While you seem to be coping admirably in comparison.” replied Mycroft lightly. Sherlock perked up at that, unravelling himself and looking between his two brothers.

“What does that mean?” he demanded of Mycroft, before turning to Q: narrowing his eyes as if he could deduce what he had missed. “What does he mean?”

“How do you know?” Q asked Mycroft, ignoring Sherlock for the moment. He tried not to show his own alarm.

“Oh I’d say it was quite plain, wouldn’t you?” he replied. Q narrowed his own eyes and mentally glanced down his self-image, scanning for what gave him away. Ah, Mycroft was lying. Or being misleading to irk Sherlock. He couldn’t have observed his social life simply from the smudge of lubricant on his trouser leg. He must have looked up records, watched CCTV footage from around MI6. The cheater. 

Q smiled, his contempt for his elder brother thinly veiled. “Still entertaining yourself with your attempt at espionage, brother?” He retorted lightly, returning his eyes to his screen gratefully.

“Don’t you have a war to be controlling? Or a cake to be eating?” Sherlock teamed in, sprawling himself out in his chair. Q sniggered and stood from the position he had been in for the last few hours. He dropped the laptop on Sherlock’s stomach proudly. Sherlock grinned back.

“We have him?”

“For the next few hours the shipping will remain there,” Q said, pointing at the screen. “I’ve disabled any communications within the building and I’ve overridden the security system. It shouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.”

Sherlock laughed in delight, sitting up and all but tossing the laptop back to his brother, racing to the door to pull on his coat. “Excellent. Are you coming?”

“I- well. Yes, I suppose I must, mustn't I?” Q grinned in reply, zipping up his own dark jacket, laptop tucked under his arm. He chased after Sherlock as the detective raced down the stairs and out the door, arm raised to hail a cab, calling “Come on, Q!” behind him. Neither of them spared a thought about the British official left alone in Sherlock’s flat, raising his phone to his ear to inform Detective Inspector Lestrade of the merry news.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated :)


End file.
